Page 91 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

Morrisette said, “Only if you have something to hide.”

“Of course not!” He was emphatic, even offended, but as if he realized how sharply he was reacting, he dialed his attitude down a bit. “I mean, I don’t even understand why you’re here.”

“Well, let’s clear that much up.” Reed retrieved the receipt from Max’s Spy World from his pocket. “It seems that you purchased camera equipment used to spy on Nicole Gillette, your landlord. You probably recognize me, as I’m sure you filmed me too when I was there.”

Arbuckle turned white as a proverbial ghost, and he nearly collapsed into his chair. “Just my luck, a cop,” he said, and waved them into the plush visitors’ chairs positioned across the expanse of polished rosewood that was his desk. “Oh, dear God. Look, I understand, but it was a mistake,” he said to begin with, not denying anything.

“Care to elaborate?”

He closed his eyes, and his hands on the arms o

f his chair clenched into fists. “I was just trying to spy on my apartment, not hers, not Nikki’s.”

“You were photographing your own place?” Reed asked skeptically. He was holding down his escalating temper with an effort.

Arbuckle exhaled and looked out the window for a second, his eyes following a fishing vessel as it headed downstream, though Reed bet he wasn’t seeing the boat. “It’s my wife. She . . . Oh, God, this is so damned . . . she’s been . . . unhappy and the word ‘divorce’ has come up a few times. I think she might be seeing someone, so I thought I’d find out for myself.”

Reed said, “By taking pictures of Nikki Gillette’s apartment?”

“I told you it was a mistake. The angle was all off!” Arbuckle said. “I told that idiot Donnigan I wanted to look into our unit. Our bedroom, but what can I say, he’s a moron. I don’t know why I trusted that pothead in the first place!”

“You asked Leon Donnigan to help you?”

“Not just asked him: I paid him!” Arbuckle admitted, folding his arms over his chest. “So I guess I’m the idiot.” He let out a long sigh. “Look, I’m no computer geek, okay? I do investments and I’m very good at it. But I can’t program computers or hook up cameras or locate wireless signals or do whatever it is I needed to do to spy on my own apartment, and Donnigan, he’s a real nerd; holes up in his bedroom and plays war games or whatever online, spends his time fixing computers and he’s always strapped for cash, so, I thought, ‘He’s right downstairs. Let him do the work.’ But he fuck—fouled up. I figured it out when the first images came in, but by then someone had already taken down the cameras.” He actually seemed a bit contrite. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t see much, just Nikki at her computer.” He actually had the decency to blush a little.

“Still, an invasion of privacy.”

“Look, I’m sorry. When I saw the first pictures, I flipped out, couldn’t believe it, and I told Donnigan to take the cameras down, but by then, it was too late. You and your officers had already done that. I didn’t know who had removed them, but I figured it wasn’t good.” He looked defeated. “If you talk to Donnigan he’ll confirm all this.”

“Oh, we will,” Morrisette assured him.

Either this guy was a really good actor or he was telling the truth. For the time being, Reed decided to believe him. “You know, you might just try talking to your wife.”

A muscle worked in the corner of Arbuckle’s jaw. “I think it might be too late for that,” he said wearily. He drew a breath and then asked, “So are we done here? There’s really nothing more to say, and I’m really busy.”

“We know. The Quinns are waiting,” Morrisette said as she glanced at Reed.

“Am I going to be charged with anything?” he asked.

Reed, disgusted, headed to the door. “That’ll be up to Ms. Gillette, but I think you’d better start looking for somewhere else to live.”

“So Blondell’s release is all set?” Nikki said to Trina upon returning to the office.

“As long as everything goes as planned, that’s the latest.” Trina pushed out her desk chair and stood in her favorite spot, on her side of the partition, where their desks merged, as Nikki switched on her desktop computer. Around them other reporters were on their phones, and keyboard keys were clicking, monitors glowing, a printer pumping out hard copy across the room. “You look remarkably okay after your ordeal last night.”

“The wonders of Cover Girl.”

“Yeah, right.”

Nikki was known for her lack of beauty routine. She just didn’t care enough, unless she was going out. Then she would hit the mascara, lip gloss, and fingernail polish a little harder.

“I would have freaked out if it had happened to me, I mean freaked. Antoine would have had to put me in a mental ward.”

“I’m really okay,” Nikki said, lying a little. She didn’t want to think too hard about the snake. “My car took a beating.”

“Is it bad?”

“Not good. I should find out today.”

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